No Grand Gestures
by Persephone Lemonade
Summary: Clint asks Natasha to marry him on a Saturday morning.


**author's note:** hi! this is a repost because reread it and decided to expand most of the scene. yay 500 extra words! enjoy. and as always, please review!

* * *

**No Grand Gestures**

He asks her to marry him on a Saturday morning.

She's a little caught off guard because he brings it up like it's normal conversation, but it's Clint, and she knows she shouldn't have expected a grand gesture. She's actually thankful for this and glad he didn't go down dramatic route.

It's just a regular Saturday morning. She's dressed in a shirt of his and her underwear – she came home from her mission the night before and was too tired to bother with going up to her floor or clothes of her own so he took off his t-shirt and gave it to her just before she face planted into his pillow – and he's in the sweatpants he wore to bed. They're standing side by side; she's fixing up her black tea at the counter and he's making breakfast on the stove when he springs it on her. Pancakes, she notices. She observes they almost look like normal people when they're anything but.

"Marry me." He doesn't ask, he tells her as he says as flips a perfectly golden brown pancake onto a plate. His voice is casual and light, as if he's asking her what the weather's like or where their next mission is.

Natasha's head snaps up from her tea to look at him. "Excuse me?" her brow is quirked high and her lips are pursed in confusion.

Clint doesn't even look up. "Marry me," he repeats, pouring some more batter onto the pan on the stove, lowering the flame so as to not burn breakfast.

Her brow settles as she looks over at him, leaning back onto the counter. "You're serious."

He's quiet a moment after that, waiting until just the right moment to flip the new one onto its other side.

"Yeah," he says finally, lightly flattening the fluffy pancake with his spatula.

Natasha crosses her leg at the ankles, one arm folded across her chest and the other holding her tea mug. "Why?" she asks, and it's a billion questions in one. _Why should I marry you? Why do you want to marry me, of all people? Why are you bringing this up now?_

He flips the newly completed pancake onto the plate and reaches into his pocket with one hand and a ladleful of batter with. After pouring it onto the pan, he pulls his other hand out of his pocket, and holds up simple diamond ring. Natasha instinctively holds her hand out and he slips the platinum band into her palm. "I'd get down on my knee, but you know I blew it out in Kiev last week," he reminds her. "No knee action 'til further notice."

Natasha stares down at the ring in her palm, her jaw dropping a little. She's never really thought about marriage, not since she was a little girl anyway, and even that's a blur. She's always figuring she'd die before she'd even get the chance. Even when she and Clint became something more than just the foolish carnie and the angry Russian brought in against her will – she'd never admit to anyone but him that he'd saved her in more ways than one – she'd never considered it. And she's never actually thought about this particular moment until right now.

She's always seen proposals in all those movies and they're always these crazy over the top events: flash mobs, elaborate declarations of love and devotion, the works. But honestly, in this moment, without the grand gestures, here, alone, doing something as mundane as preparing breakfast, she thinks this is probably the best proposal she's ever witnessed and it takes her a second to remember that she's the one being proposed to.

"You didn't answer my question," she says, her eyes still on the band in her palm. "Why?" she repeats.

Clint slips the last pancake onto a plate, turns off the stove, and sets the pan in the sink. "Why not?" he counters while walking back over to her and leaning on his elbow next to her. She can hear the slight amusement in his tone, as if he already knows her answer, and she has to roll her eyes to hide the hint of a smile forming on her face. It still throws her that he can do that.

He leans in, pressing a kiss to her cheek, lingering for a moment. "I love you," he shrugs. "You're stuck with me-"

"Unfortunately," she cuts him off, earning herself a light pinch to her side where he knows she's most ticklish.

"I wanna get to call you my wife," he finishes simply.

"I wouldn't be your wife; _you'd_ be _my_ husband."

"I'm already your bitch so might as well," he jokes, kissing her cheek once more.

"Good; you know your place," she teases back, a full smile finally forming on her face, her eyes averting back to the ring. She tilts it a little when she notices there's something written on the inside and a slight shiver runs down her spine at the words engraved there in her mother tongue, the first words he ever said to her. "_Bezhat' so mnoy…_" she murmurs.

"Run away with me," he whispers.

Natasha bites her lip and turns her head to look up at him, everything she's ever felt for him running through her all at once. "Do I have to put it on myself?" she asks and her voice is light, as though if she were to speak any louder the moment would be ruined.

"C'mere." He takes her mug away and sets it on the counter before grabbing the ring and slipping it through her slender ring finger.

Natasha's eyes don't leave the sparkling diamond. The new weight perfectly strange on her finger, but also strangely perfect, and before she can voice this, his arms are wrapped around her tight and his lips are pressed to hers.


End file.
